Wake (97 page)

“Are you okay?” he asks in a voice thin with exhaustion. Funny that he should be asking me that.

“I’m happy you’re getting better.” I just happen to express it like a complete twit. I gather Jem close and he tucks his head into the crook of my neck.

“Where were you?” He sounds so sad, and I feel even worse.

“I was having a moment.”

Jem tilts his head to look at my face. His tired eyes are tight with worry and he bites his lip to hide its sad downturn. “I’m sorry,” he says, and squeezes my hand tighter. “I shouldn’t have made you come. It’s selfish—”

“Jem, shut up.”

He sighs fretfully and touches my hair with his free hand. He has a tender touch, even when he’s weak.

“I was worried about you,” he whispers. The words echo slightly within the plastic oxygen mask. “I thought something had happened—and no one had told me. Or that Elise had lied, and you weren’t coming today.”

“I always meant to come,” I assure him, and kiss his cheek. “I just got a little held up, is all. You don’t need me coming in here and being disgustingly emotional right now. I had to wait until I was calm.”

My explanation saddens him again. He gently twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I wasn’t there for you.”

“Maybe that’s for the best. I had snot bubbles coming out my nose—hardly attractive.” I reach over to grab a tube of lotion off the side table and Jem snorts.

“
You’re
worried about being the unattractive one?”

“Hush.” I put a dol op of lotion on my finger and lift his mask away. The skin around the edges of the plastic is dry and rough, so I gently smooth it with my hand. Jem kisses my fingers and closes his eyes with a sigh.

“I thought that, too,” he murmurs as I put his mask back in place and cap the lotion bottle.

“What’s that?”

“Why you didn’t come today—I thought you were…finished. That you’d had enough.” Jem opens his eyes just enough to look at me under his lashes. “I wouldn’t blame you for leaving me.”

I’d love to smack some sense into him, but I can’t, so I settle for flicking the front of his oxygen mask.

“You think I’d let you bleed, puke, and phlegm on me, and then turn around and kick you when you’re down like some meaningless crush?”

“I’m not easy to be with.”

“No shit. I’m not either.”

“You don’t have to stay with me out of…I don’t know, a sense of history or
pity
.” Oh, how he hates that word. I kiss the smooth skin between Jem’s eyebrows and reach a hand under the blankets. He flinches when I run my fingers over the waistband of his pajamas pants.

“I didn’t pull you into the bathroom yesterday out of pity,” I whisper. “I want to be here, to be with you—

but I’m only human. I had a weak moment, and I’m sorry, but I’m here now. No more talk of me leaving you, okay?”

Jem nods, but it’s a token gesture. I let it be, rubbing his back and talking to him about ordinary things.

Frank spent time with Doug this weekend, so I guess their spat is over. Jem listens languidly and rubs his fingers between mine. His hand is warm now that his fever has abated.

“Do you need anything?” I ask as his smile of contentment grows.

“Kisses.” I owe him an afternoon’s worth of affection, and I genuinely miss it, so I give him many little kisses. His oxygen mask stays in place while I kiss his cheeks and eyes and neck. Jem revels in it, with small sighs and whispered endearments. He doesn’t even complain when I push his hat back and kiss the soft spot above his ear. I nuzzle his hair and Jem smiles.

“I think you lied to Paige,” he says teasingly.

“About what?”

“About not caring about my hair. You told her you didn’t miss touching it.”

“You should let me do it more often,” I hint. “The novelty will wear off.” Jem surprises me by taking the suggestion seriously.

“When Mom isn’t around,” he bargains. “It upsets her.”

“Are you sure?” Maybe it upset Ivy when Jem first lost his hair, because the diagnosis was still so new and her fears were so fresh. But now that the fight is over, it might comfort her to see that his hair is growing back. He’s fill ing out the image of his old, healthy self. I tell him this and he still shakes his head.

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be just for us.” As if to prove it, Jem slips his hat off the rest of the way and all ows me full access to his scalp. The soft hairs are long enough to poke past my fingers when I run a hand over his crown.

“You haven’t been wearing gloves lately.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

I can only shrug. I’m not entirely certain of my reasons. It could be that I’m finished with hiding, or it could be that I just want to shove my imperfections in the face of bul ies like Elwood. Maybe I’m embracing my past. Maybe my reasons change from hour to hour.

“I’m a little jealous,” Jem admits. “You’re braver than I am.”

“Nah, I’ve been chickening out. Every time someone asks how I got it I lie or only tell half the story.”

Jem weaves his fingers between mine. “Doesn’t matter. It’s nobody’s business but yours.” Jem points to the foot of the bed where a clipboard and pen are kept with his chart. He wants the pen. When I pass it to him he uncaps it and begins to draw on the back of my hand.

It starts with a leaf growing out of my scar, and then Jem adds another. Where the scar curves around my wrist, Jem inks flower petals one by one, layering them into the image of a partially open rose. The tip of the scar becomes the edge of a petal, and when I bend my wrist the flower ‘blooms.’

“There’s a real romantic in you, you know.”

“Do you mind?” he says sweetly. I smile and lean down to nuzzle his temple.

“It’s one of the many things I love about you.” And I never thought I could even enjoy it, never mind love it. “You’re converting me.”

Jem winks. “Love you too.”

Sunday

I’m up half the night writing. After I left the hospital last night, it didn’t take much reflection on the events of the day before I figured out what I wanted to say for the Soc project. I wrote the whole thing in four hours and wake up tired and cranky. It’s a therapy day and I have to go without Jem. I’m not eager to face the firing squad alone, but Frank won’t let me I skip two weeks in a row. I make the task bearable by making plans for after Group, which of course include Jem. After breakfast I create a little surprise for him, one that will hopefully make up for worrying him yesterday and banish all idiocy about me leaving him.

Arthur prefaces the group meeting with an announcement about a church picnic next Saturday. The youth ministry is setting up an event with food, games, a sing-along (shoot me now) and prayer for the benefit of parishioners from the local assisted living home. At first I think he means it’s a retirement community, but then Arthur goes on this hyper-political y-correct spiel about making the ‘handi-capable’

of our community feel welcome at the parish.

I’m kind of glad that Arthur is an idiot. Otherwise he’d know what an ass he sounds like right now, and he’d have to feel embarrassed. He ends his enthusiastic speech with an invitation to come out and volunteer with ‘our differently-abled brethren.’ I’m glad Jem skipped this group session, because Arthur’s tendency to alienate people by over-including them is in full force today. Jem would probably have some smartass remark for him, and the thought makes me smile.

“Willa?” Arthur catches me smirking. “Something you’d like to say?”

Might as well exploit the moment. “If we volunteer do we get t-shirts?
Gimps for Christ
or something?”

Arthur is horrified at my use of such a derogatory word, and for a moment I almost miss Steve. He had nothing against words like ‘gimp.’ He tried to own them, because it was better to face a problem than avoid it. Can’t say I ever really picked up on that lesson.

*

I head straight to the hospital after Group. I miss Jem, and I’m excited to give him the little surprise that I hope will lift his spirits, since I worried him yesterday. It’s tucked away in my iPod so it will remain between just the two of us, and, personally, I think new and ingenious ways to screw with his heart monitor are fun. I recorded it for him this morning in another fit of fuck-in-the-face-of-death horniness. I know firsthand that dirty talk isn’t Jem’s strong suit, but I’m hoping that track will
inspire
him. It’s hidden in the ‘Jem’ playlist amongst other easy-listening songs that I thought would be good for his state of convalescence: tracks by Mae, some Stones, a little Joshua Radin and a smattering of Sia.

“I made a playlist for you,” I tell him, and hand over my iPod. Jem smiles at the gesture and puts the earbuds in. It’s been awhile since we could exchange music and I sort of miss it. Evidently he does too.

He goes straight for the playlist with his name on it and closes his eyes to focus on the sweet strains. Al the tracks in the
Jem
playlist are purposely love songs today, conveying the whispers of my twisted heart much more readily and eloquently than I ever could.

I know he’s reached the homemade track when Jem smiles to himself. It starts out innocently:
Hey

love, I was thinking of you. You were in my dream last night.
And I know he’s gotten to the ‘good’ part when his eyes snap open and his pale cheeks flush. Jem’s eyes flit to his mom in the corner with paranoia, and then he gives me a deep glare. I just smirk and make a naughty gesture where Ivy can’t see.

Jem crooks a finger at me, beckoning me closer. I scoot my chair up to the bedside and take his hand.

“I’m going to murder you,” he mouths. I wink.

“You know, it has a pause button.” I reach over to touch it and Jem yanks the iPod out of my reach.

“
No.
”

“Enjoy,” I mouth, and take one of the earbuds to listen. He’s not even at the best part yet, just the warm up. I took my time with this little project; set the scene, told him in explicit detail everything I wanted to do to him, and what I would have done if we hadn’t been interrupted on Friday. Jem’s cheeks are perpetually pink through the whole recital, and it only gets worse when I use his finger to demonstrate the descriptions on the recording. The monitor gives away an elevated heart rate as I give his finger a very slow and sensual handjob.

Jem’s fingers grip mine, stopping me, when the track progresses out of description and into something a little different. At first his jaw drops, and then he licks his lips and eyes me curiously. He can’t say it out loud without his mom overhearing, so he gestures by curling two fingers.

You were touching yourself?

I wink and Jem mutters, “Jesus.” Little beads of sweat appear around the edges of his hat. I wipe them away and he whispers, “Kiss me.”

I move his mask and give him a slow, sensual kiss. Apparently it lasts a few seconds too long because Ivy scolds us, “Hey now, no funny business, you two.” Jem and I both chuckle guiltily. If only she knew what we were really up to right now.

Jem insists on keeping my iPod when visiting hours are over.

Monday

I think Frank is testing me. When I’ve put in the requisite number of study hours and come downstairs to pack a serving of soup for Jem, he asks if I’m going over to the hospital soon.

“Mind if I come with you?”

I’m certain this is a test of some sort. “You want to?”

Frank shrugs uncomfortably. “Kid’s in the hospital,” he says, as though that justifies his behavior. I never thought I’d see the day when Frank would feel any obligation of kindness toward Jem.

“Alright, but we should drive separately. You’ll probably want to leave before I will .”

“How sick is he?” Frank asks.

“You’ll have to wear a mask around him. He still coughs a lot and he’s tired, but his breathing is much better and most of the time he’s alert.” I sound like I’m talking about an old man.

“I got him something.” Frank goes to the junk drawer beside the fridge and pulls out a Get well card.

He hands it to me for approval and I try not to smile cheekily.

“You’re really trying hard here, aren’t you?”

Frank mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “It was Doug’s idea,” and stalks away to the front hall . “Are we going or not?”

*

As Frank and I ride the elevator in silence, I wonder if he’s pulling some reverse psychology trick on me. Pretend to support my relationship with a former cancer patient, accept him into the fold, and then…

what? Ship me off to military school?

I’m not sure what to expect when we exit onto the third floor. Frank isn’t good with delicate situations.

He even makes me carry the card, since he can’t be seen to show any kind of sensitivity or emotional aptitude. This visit with Jem is probably going to be short and awkward.

We sign in at the nurse’s station and take masks from the bin on the counter. Elise comes along a moment later, whistling to herself and carrying a can of juice from the vending machine.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she chirps, and links her arm with mine. “You’ve got to see this. It’s hilarious.”

Frank follows behind us, keeping to the center of the hall like he’s walking through a correctional facility.

“What happened?” If it isn’t a good time to visit, I’m sure Frank would be happy to postpone.

“Some idiot intern turned the drip on his painkil er up too fast,” Elise says of her brother. “He’s high as a kite.”

I remember all too vividly how Jem and painkillers get along. “How’s his stomach?”

“Fine now, after he barfed up an entire meal and what I’m sure was his spleen or pancreas or something.”

Frank coughs uncomfortably. “Maybe we should come back later, Will .”

“No, he’s fine now,” Elise says cheerfull y. “He’s very uh…friendly, at the moment.”

As we come up to the door of Jem’s room a nurse walks out smiling and shaking her head. I can hear singing: “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts…” Of all the annoying songs to sing. I finish the line as I approach the bed, because I can’t let the poor bastard embarrass himself alone. Jem looks at me with such innocent joy and says, “You know the words!”